


This Army Is Made Up Of Morons

by paraparanom



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraparanom/pseuds/paraparanom
Summary: i wrote this back in 2017 around when that RL design got released and then lost motivation lmao, so have an unfinished, un-edited mess“Who the fuck put arms in the garbage bin? These go in recycling, dumbass.” And other Red Army shenanigans.





	This Army Is Made Up Of Morons

Blood dripped slowly down the searing blades teeth. Dark red, it was splattered across the smooth, iridescent metal, collecting in maroon clumps that dribbled to the floor. The medical saw sat heavily in Paul’s arms. Despite the questionable quantities of blood pooling at his feet, he didn’t seemed fazed, as if hacking off limbs was just another bullet on his to-do list of the day. Paul grunted, weighing the tool back and forth in his hands.

“Well that was something. How do you feel?”

He gestured to Tord, sitting on top of the operating table, also covered in blood. A dismembered arm rested nearby. Tord looked a little pale, but apart from that he was fine. Mostly. His arm  _ was _ just hacked off.

“I feel,” Tord began, “like you should probably bandage that before I bleed out and die.”

Paul shrugged, seemingly weighing his options. “Yeah, probably.”

The two sat in silence for a few more minutes.

Realization seemed to hit Paul, and he grabbed the gauze placed nearby. He applied pressure, waiting for the bleeding to slow. After wrapping Tord’s nub in a few dozen layers of bandages, Paul stepped back, walking over to the clinic fridge. Blood loss meant low blood sugar. He opened the mini-fridge slowly, scanning the shelves. Sitting near the bottom, lay a surprisingly large amount of juice boxes. Paul grabbed one, and handed it to Tord, who grunted in response.

In Paul’s opinion, Apple Juice was the worst, but honestly, who gave two shits at this point. His “boss” drank the juice box, which was comically tiny in his large, twenty- (verging on thirty) -something-year-old, adult, man hand. After a moment, Tord spoke up again.

“Alright, now do the other one.” He put the box in his blood-soaked lap, and held out his remaining arm.

“Yeah, okay.” Paul brought up his saw, ready to bring the wrath of steel upon Tord’s left arm.

“Wait- shit.” Paul halted at Tord’s interruption, the saw hovering millimeters from his skin. “No, go back. First, I gotta put on the robot arm. Then I’ll have at least one arm to attach the other arm on with.”

“Or maybe we just don’t cut off your other arm.”

“No that’s stupid. I want two robot arms, Paul.”

“Alright.” With a quick, clean swipe, Paul brought down the saw on Tord’s arm.

“FUCK!”

Blood spewed out, and Paul continued to saw through the flesh and bone underneath. A series of sickening cracks screamed out, and torn skin ruptured back and forth. Plasma dripped down, collecting at the floor. It gathered in Tord’s lap, while Paul remained mostly clean apart from the splattering on his hands. After a final, sickening splinter crack, the saw fell through the appendage, which fell to the floor with a wet slap. Paul glanced down at it, then back up at Tord. His boss was looking a little winded. Which made sense, since he did lose two arms in the span of an hour. Tord teetered back and forth, before collapsing on the table.

Rolling his eye, Paul bandaged up Tord’s other side. Stepping back, the man felt something squish under his boot. Oh, yeah, the arm. Paul picked it up, then retrieved it’s companion from the tabletop. He left Tord where he was, deciding it would probably be fine, and walked out of the medbay, dumping both arms in the garbage bin on the way out.

Yuu was waiting by the water cooler, paper cone on hand. It was almost comical. He waved at Paul, who frowned and leaned against the wall. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and put one in his mouth to chew on. Yuu turned to face Paul, resting his elbow on the water cooler, head coyly held up by his hand. He shot Paul a curious look.

“So, how was the, uh, arm thing?”

Paul shrugged. “None of your-”

“Who the  _ fuck  _ put arms in the garbage bin? These go in recycling, dumbass.” Yanov emerged from around the corner, two dismembered limbs tucked underneath his arms. He angrily trudged over, pointing at Paul with Tord’s old right arm. “Mate, you gotta clean up. Blood isn't your color.”

Yuu snorted, “Only one of us is allowed to wear that much red.”

“And he's currently passed the fuck out from blood loss.” Patryck had somehow emerged from nowhere, and joined in on this coffee-break esque meet up.

“Sounds fun.” Yuu rolled his eyes. “You bandaged him, right?”

Yanov scoffed, tucking the lose arm he held back under his armpit. “Read: He signs our paychecks.”

“That too.”

An annoyed groan escaped Pat’s lips, “When's the last time any of us were actually paid?”

“Good point,” Paul spoke up this time, “let him bleed out.”

* * *

 

“Explain why we're at the costume shop again?” Yuu asked, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. Their army of five was dressed in casual disguise, trying to “blend in” or whatever. Stupid, because they constantly went out in public in their uniforms. Even stupider, Tord wasn’t blending in in any sense of the word. He bought a sleeveless hoodie specifically so he could show off his robot arms. The two arms stood out like a sore thumb, and the bright red hoodie did nothing to alleviate the issue. Mix bright primary colors with a disfigured face, stupid hair, and robot arms and you’ve got Tord, “blending in”.

“Because, I need a cool supervillain costume.” Tord replied, “Robot arms was the first step, the second is a cool outfit.” He pulled out a crumpled up paper from his hoodie pocket. Uncurling it, Tord showed off his crudely drawn anime interpretation of himself, except muscular, with a dark shroud of clothing covering most of his body. A maroon cape was draped over the drawings shoulder, adding to the dark and brooding aesthetic. Various bullet points littered the paper, saying things such as “customized belt”, “cargo pants”, and “light up shoes”.

A sigh of defeat seemed to radiate from the entire group, apart from Tord, who looked as confident as ever.

“Are you gonna get a super villain haircut as well?” Yanov jokingly suggested.

“Don’t encourage him.” Paul mumbled as he grabbed the store's entrance door, holding it open for the others.

The group walked inside, peering through each aisle with inspiring levels of boredom. Tord however, was practically bouncing off the walls, grabbing every bit and bobble he could manage to find that matched his “look”. As a backup plan, Patryck and Yuu assembled an alternative costume that wouldn't be an embarrassment to the public eye. Technically, he already had a costume that already matched their current theme of blue overcoats, but apparently that wasn’t cutting it anymore. In fact, if they wore blue coats, why were they called the  _ Red  _ Army? That was a stupid decision.

Shuffling to the back, the group found themselves waiting for Tord to try on his ensemble. Patryck was playing cards with Yuu on the floor, while Paul and Yanov exchanged cigarettes. Pale grey smoke laced the air, and as disgusting as the smell was, the four were already accustomed to it. Tord had picked up cigar smoking awhile ago, so the smog and threat of second-hand smoke and/or lung cancer wasn’t anything new.

“Alright you twinks, get ready for the best damn outfit ever.” Tord grabbed the edge of the fitting room curtain, hastily ripping it back to reveal his outfit. Which was, y’know, absolute shit. Because it’s  _ Tord _ , of course it’s shit.

He had a red cape draped across his back, and still had his sleeveless hoodie on. A black helmet, resembling a bucket in shape, covered most of his face apart from the slit down the front, and the holes meant for eyes. The hood of Tord’s jacket covered the top of his helmet, casting a shadow over the rest of what you could see. He was wearing dark grey cargo pants, which was clearly a mistake, because he put  _ knee pads  _ over his pants. Though, the army boots did match. Anyways, it was a disaster.

“You’re not wearing that.” Paul was gonna be blunt. This costume was terrible and Tord was terrible and this was a terrible idea.

“Fuck you I look great.”

Patryck stood up, sizing himself up to Tord, and knocked his hand against the helmet. A clang echoed, and Patryck rolled his eyes. “Where did you find a metal helmet?”

“In the clearance section.”

“Can we leave now?” Yanov had moved in the last five minutes to be spread out across the floor. “Let's leave.”

Yuu pushed Yanov so he was sitting upright. “First we have to pay for this stuff.”

Silence.

“Did any of you bring money?”

More silence. The tension in the air was thick enough to be fog.

Tord smiled his worst shit-eating-grin. He held up a finger, as if attempting to voice his most likely horrible idea.

“Boss we're not stealing all this bullshit.” Paul interjected, shutting that train down before it even left the platform. Tord humphed, and crossed his arms. He kicked the ground, sending dust flying into the air. Truly, their leader was just a giant man-child.

“Paul you never let me have any fun.” He whined.

“You're idea of fun is about the equivalent of being shot in the leg.”

“That  _ is  _ fun!”

With a clang, Tord removed his helmet, tucking it underneath his right arm. “I'm stealing this shit Paul. All of it.”

He snuck out of the fitting room area, crouching low to the ground so he couldn't be seen from the register. Tord shuffled out, bypassing the one employee in the entire shop, who was currently too preoccupied with a teen magazine of some sort to notice. He reached the exit, stood up slowly, and hopped outside.

Triggering the store alarm system.

Panic flashed in Tord’s eyes momentarily, and he looked over his shoulder to see the rest of his army with their heads in their hands, reeling with disappointment.

“You're on your own!” He called, using his hands as a megaphone, before running away.

Yuu hit his head against the floor with annoyance, resting it against the cool tile. This job wasn't worth the migraines he got from dealing with Tord's bullshit. “Can we  _ please  _ leave?”

The group rearranged, getting to their feet. Groaning, they followed Tord outside. Yanov left a two pound tip for the poor worker, knowing that they definitely didn’t sign up to handle the Red Army’s incredibly stupid antics. Sure, it may have been the only cash any of them possessed at the moment, but who gave a flying fuck anymore. It was obvious Tord stole the costume, and he would likely steal more stuff in the future. The least any of them could do is give two pounds to some random teenager.

Before the group could even turn a corner, a bright red car zoomed past from across the street, sending wind flying behind it. With a screech, the car’s tires suddenly veered left, swerving back around. The tires skidded, leaving dark tracks behind, and the car performed a sudden circle, lurching to a stop directly in front of their feet. Slowly, probably for dramatic affect, the driver’s window rolled down, revealing Tord, still in costume. He frowned, clearly aggravated, and waved them in. Patryck climbed in first, not at all surprised Tord managed to acquire a car in the five minutes since he left. He pulled Paul in after him, leaving room for Yuu to climb in next. Yanov closed the door, walking around to the left side of the car to get in the passenger seat. He grabbed the door handle, which clicked as his fingers made contact. Locked.

Yanov knocked on the window, which Tord rolled down in response. “Uh, you gonna let me in?”

“You’re in the back.” Tord deadpanned, pointing behind himself.

“The back’s already full.”

Tord turned, looking like he’d literally rather be doing anything but having this conversation. “Does it look like a give a fuck? No. No it doesn’t. Get in the back you sub-genre anime character.”

With a sigh of defeat, Yanov opened the back door, squeezing next to Yuu. By doing this, the four passengers squished Paul into oblivion. He was ready to stab a bitch, because dear god did the middle seat suck. If they were in some kind of youtube crack video Paul would most definitely be angrily vibrating. You could see the literal steam coming out of his ears.

“Alright motherfuckers let's go.”

Tord floored the accelerator, the car tires spinning in place for a moment before pushing the vehicle forward at a speed that was definitely higher than the limit posted. 


End file.
